Lockheart
by Aublanc
Summary: When the Chitauri invaded, mages created metal dragons. Ten years later, General Loki leads an attack against Thanatos, the Chitauri's capital, in hopes of ending the war. The mission ends in failure, but one good thing does come of it; Tony Stark, blacksmith extraordinaire, is hired to repair Loki's dragon, and when the two meet, they are suitable intrigued. (Steampunk!AU)
1. Chapter 1

Quick note, since FF doesn't have convenient tags for this like Ao3 does. In this story, Loki is genderfluid, and the relationship between Loki and Tony is queerplatonic. And there's a lot of metal dragons.

* * *

Sweat dripped down Tony's brow, pooling around the rim of his goggles. He ignored it and slammed the hammer down again. Ringing metal echoed through the smithy, followed closely by the hiss of burning coals. Once the gold-titanium alloy shifted back to a searing yellow-white, Tony pulled it from the flames and beat it against the anvil.

He repeated the process a dozen times, hammering and pulling the metal into shape. Only when the flat sheet had been sculpted into a vambrace did he stop, allowing the glow to simmer down to a dull red. His tools were set aside, and he wiggled his goggles to the top of his head to get a closer look at his creation. Heat radiated against his face as he inspected the divots and latches, and then he pulled back with a grin.

"Ha! I told you I could do it, Bruce!" He spun around to face his friend, who was in the middle of greasing a golden gear. "And to think you doubted my abilities."

Bruce raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "If I remember right, the word I had used was 'shouldn't'. Just because you can do something doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"Bah, semantics," Tony said, whirling back towards his project. The metal had reverted to its natural silver, and he lifted it with thick gloves. "Besides, anything I do is a good idea."

He bounced across the smithy and shoved the gauntlet under Bruce's nose, blocking him from his work. The man sighed. "Tony, you are being ridiculous. Have you not slept in a while? Is that what this is?"

"You're as bad as Pepper," Tony grumbled. "I've slept within the past twenty-four hours. Now _look_."

When Bruce finally relented and observed the vambrace, Tony felt like a child showing off a hideous charcoal drawing. Except, of course, what he had made was spectacular.

A few seconds passed without Bruce praising his genius, so Tony nudged the man's shoulder. "What do you think? I mean, I know it isn't perfect, and I've yet to decorate it. It's also a bit heavy, but I don't think that'll be a problem. There's always spells to get around that, and I-"

"Tony," Bruce interrupted. "What did I say about rambling?"

"Not to," Tony dutifully answered, but a second later, he took a deep breath and gushed, "But come on, don't you know how cool this is? Imagine when it's finished!"

"That's if it works, which frankly..." Bruce switched his focus from the vambrace to the other armor pieces strewn across Tony's desk and floor space. "I don't think it will. At least, I hope it doesn't. You're reckless enough as it is."

"You're just saying that because you're jealous I'll get to fly without a dragon," Tony said, pulling his creation away. If Bruce didn't appreciate it, he didn't get to look at it.

As Tony hid the vambrace behind his half-eaten lunch, Bruce rolled his eyes. "If you're done, I'm letting some air in here. It's sweltering."

He unbarred the thick metal shutters behind his desk, startling a pigeon that had been resting on the other side. It squawked and flew off, and in its place swept in cold winter air. Tony copied Bruce and opened the other two windows before grabbing a bucket of water and splashing it on the coals. The furnace sputtered, gushing smoke through the hole in the ceiling.

The empty bucket was soon refilled with water from the pipes, and Tony soaked an old washcloth in it. Then he set to wiping the sweat and soot from his bare chest, relishing the sudden chill just as much as he did finally being free of grime.

He had just dunked his head in the bucket to rise his hair when there was a commotion outside. With a frown, he pressed the water from his hair and went to the window. People were rushing through the streets in a dither, and a strike of fear went through Tony as he thought that Midgard was under attack. But then he realized that they weren't fleeing; they were running towards the city gates, where a large enough congregation had gathered that Tony could see it from his workshop.

"What is it?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know." Tony leaned farther out the window, but he was upwind from the gathering and couldn't make out any words. Then a young man ran past the window and Tony shouted, "Hey, what's going on?"

The boy stumbled and skidded to a stop, turning to him in surprise. "Haven't you heard? The Dragon Corp has returned, and people are saying they lost!"

Down the road, the shouting had grown louder as glinting beasts swooped down from the sky, heralding a caravan of returning soldiers. Drawn by the spectacle, the young man continued running, leaving Tony to frown after him.

There was shuffling from behind him, and he turned to see Bruce shrugging on his coat. "You're going down there?" Tony asked, slipping down from the window.

"Yeah." The man tightened fabric straps and adjusted his glasses. "Something is wrong. There shouldn't be this much fanfare, even if they did lose." He stopped at the door. "Are you coming?"

After a moment's hesitation, Tony nodded and grabbed his coat. He followed Bruce out of the smithy as he buttoned it, and then they hurried towards the gates. It was as if everyone in the city was on the streets, and they were still blocks away from the action when the congregation became too thick to walk through. Tony scowled at the shoulders and heads blocking his view before deciding that he wasn't going to wait where the only news he had was the concerned nattering of the two old women who lived next door.

Squaring his shoulders, he shoved into the crowd, and angry shouting followed in his wake. Bruce rushed to follow him, though he was too polite to ram his way through.

"Sorry. I need to get through here. Excuse me, I need to catch up with my friend." He accidentally bumped into an crotchety old man.

"Watch where you're going!"

"Sorry, sir. I will." Bruce ducked his head, trying to be less obtrusive, but he still had to force his way to Tony's side. Thankfully for him, Tony had run out of room to maneuver and was anxiously waiting at the corner of the main street.

"This is crazy," Bruce said, huddling into his coat to avoid knocking elbows with the woman next to him. "What do you think happened?"

"I don't know. Maybe they-"

His words were drowned out by angry shouts from farther down the road. "Get out of the way! Hurry up! Get out of the way!"

Unable to see what was happening, Tony stepped onto a flowerpot, smothering a peony under his boots. A woman with fiery red hair, a scorched uniform, and a Corp insignia on her shoulder was marching up the street, and the gathered civilians struggled to clear the path. They backed into alleyways and against the walls, though the woman's ire did not keep them from straining their necks to see the caravan that followed her.

There were two other dragon riders on her heels, and nestled between them was a wooden cart. It clattered across the cobblestones as they raced through the city, and despite their efforts to hold it steady, it shook and jostled. Tony squinted his eyes against the evening sun, trying to discern what they were so frantic about.

Then the cart passed by him, and he stared in shock at the body laid out on the wood. Red-stained bandages obscured their figure, and the visible swathes of flesh were either charred brown or ghostly white. Matted black hair stood out starkly against a slack and empty face, and were it not for the blood that dribbled from the man's mouth with each gasping breath, Tony would have thought him dead.

Seconds later, the group had passed, continuing their mad rush to the apothecary. The onlooking crowd was stunned into silence, and once the first cart had vanished around the corner, they turned as one to the other soldiers that were coming into view. They also walked alongside carts that bore covered bodies, but they had no need to rush; the riders inside had long since died.

As the death march proceeded, worried whispers arose.

"What in the world happened to them? Have the Chitauri grown stronger?"

"Did you see? Those weren't just any dragon riders—that was the First Corp."

"How are we supposed to win the war now?"

Growing tired of listening to frightened speculations, Tony hopped down from the flowerpot and caught Bruce's eye. He jerked his chin in the direction of the fort, and the other nodded. They wound through the crowd, and eventually they were spat out on the other side of Midgard.

However, the fort was just as busy as the city proper; foot soldiers and dragon riders were bustling back and forth, carrying news and supplies throughout the grounds. But though they dutifully carried out their orders, they did so in a daze. Their expressions were shell-shocked and forlorn.

Gut twisting in apprehension, Tony scanned the mayhem for someone who would be willing to give him answers. It didn't take long for him to find who he needed, and he stalked across the brittle grass as he called, "Rhodey!"

Rhodey broke off his conversation with the man he was talking to, an angry fellow with an eye-patch, and turned to face Tony. When he saw who had called for him, his troubled expression was momentarily lightened by a smile. "Tony, you're just the man I need!"

When Tony reached him, Rhodey pulled him into a hug and patted his back. Then he breathed in, wrinkled his nose, and drew back. "Ugh, you _reek_. When was the last time you showered?"

"I've been in the smithy all day," Tony said. "You try doing that and coming out smelling like roses."

Rhodey grinned at him, but then the man he'd been talking to shifted impatiently. Schooling his expression, Rhodey turned away from Tony and said, "Recall the troops we sent to Stuttgart and request reinforcements from Vanaheim. If there's a counterattack, we need to be ready. We can't afford to lose more dragon riders."

"We can't afford to lose more soldiers, either," the man replied, his gaze moving to the weary ranks of soldiers. But then a large shadow fell across the fort, and they looked up to see a gleaming dragon pass overhead. Its metal and canvas wings beat hard against the air, buffeting the people below, and its rider leaned forwards in the saddle. Within the beast's chest, a purple light flared, and the next wing beat rocketed the dragon forwards.

Once the dragon had become nothing more than a dark speck in the sky, circling protectively over the city, they turned away and the man sighed. "I'll see what I can do," he conceded, and at Rhodey's nod, he spun on his heel and strolled towards the headquarters.

"That's Major Fury," Rhodey said when he noticed Tony's curious staring. "He's normally stationed near the border, but in light of recent events, he's been called back."

"Recent events?" Bruce asked. "Do you mean what happened with the First Corp?"

When Rhodey didn't answer immediately, Tony added to the pressure. "You said you need me for something. I'm going to guess it has something to do with why the entire military has gone to shit."

Realizing that he wasn't going to get away with being tight-lipped, Rhodey said, "We've been sustaining heavy losses for months now. This last one with the First Corp... It's going to crush morale. We need something to bolster their spirits and prove that the war isn't lost."

"And I'm somehow involved in that?" Tony asked. "Because I'm not really the bolstering type."

"No, but you're good at fixing things." When neither Tony nor Bruce showed comprehension at his words, Rhodey stepped back and gestured for them to follow. "I'll show you what I'm talking about."

Intrigued, Tony let him lead them through the compound. They stopped at the hangar, which was designed to accommodate over a dozen dragons. However, only four were inside, and the others were lying in wagons. Though perhaps 'lying' was the wrong word; the dragons before him were nothing more than twisted mounds of metal, their usual gleam blackened and splattered with crimson.

A group of trainees were in the middle of tugging a tarp off of one of the machines, and one of them slipped, accidentally falling into the dragon. With a groan, metal broke away, and a golden head rolled from the wagon into the dirt. The half of it that was visible was crushed inwards, and eyes that had once glowed with magic were now empty.

"Watch what you're doing, cadet!" a woman ordered, and when the boy began apologizing profusely, nearly stepping on a wing that trailed across the ground, she groaned. "This is the cream of the crop? They're nothing more than children."

"If I remember correctly, you weren't much better when you first joined the Corp," Rhodey said, and the woman turned to them in surprise.

"Colonel Rhodes. I didn't see you standing there." She peered at Bruce and Tony. "Who are they?"

"Tony Stark, genius extraordinaire," Tony answered before Rhodey could. "And this shy fellow here is my assistant, Bruce Banner."

"I'm not your assistant," Bruce muttered, but he reached out to shake the woman's hand.

"Second Lieutenant Hill," she introduced, and then she offered Tony her hand. "Mr. Stark. I've heard a lot about you. We could use your expertise."

"Everyone could use my expertise." Tony said with a cocky grin. However, that grin became forced when he looked over her shoulder at the three slayed dragons. "I'm not really in the scrap business, though. I prefer more of a challenge."

"Then it's a good thing we don't need you for those. You're here for that." She pointed at a wagon that had been separated from the rest, though the dragon inside was no less mangled. Its left wing had been blasted off, its front legs were mutilated, and its chest had been gouged to the point that the rigging was sliding out.

And yet, despite how severely it was damaged, the dragon was still functional. It twitched as the maintenance crew poked at it, and when it turned its head—causing the gears in its neck to screech and grind—its eyes glowed faint green.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You want me to fix _that_?"

Hill matched his expression. "Are you saying you can't? From what I've heard, you were the best in the business until you stopped taking contracts."

"Oh, I can do it alright, but I don't think it'd do anyone any good."

As he spoke, the magic in the dragon's eyes abruptly dimmed until he could barely see wisps of green inside the bristling skull. Those who noticed froze and stared and the dying light in dread. They didn't dare breathe, as if doing so would extinguish it once and for all.

But then the magic rekindled, though it lacked the vibrancy it once had. It made Tony think back to the half-dead man he had seen, hanging onto his life by a thread, and he knew then what body had once sat upon the ruined beast before him. After all, a dragon didn't die until its rider did.

Once a minute had passed and the light remained, Rhodey found his voice. "They'll pull through. They have every time before."

"Whose dragon is it?" Bruce asked, his eyes darting to the dragon and away again. The unspoken question was, 'Who else just sacrificed their life to stop this damn war?'

Hill answered with her fists clenched. "General Loki's."

Though Tony hadn't had a face to attach to the name until today, Hill's words made his blood run cold. He would've had to live under a rock to not know who Loki was. And yet he hoped to whatever deity might be out there—_not_ the self-proclaimed gods of Asgard—that he had the name wrong. "Loki? As in the best dragon rider we've ever seen Loki? The Hero of Galisteo? That one?"

Hill's defeated expression was answer enough.

"I thought we were winning," Tony said. "Winning doesn't end with the general and half of the First Corp dead."

"Loki's not dead yet," Rhodey said forcefully. "It takes more than that to kill an Aesir."

Given the way the dragon's magic kept fading, Tony thought that 'yet' was an apt way to put it. He had seen the general; wounds like that had killed would-be gods before. What the Corp needed to focus on was promoting a new leader, not fixing a dragon that was doomed to be scrapped.

Tony opened his mouth to say as much, but Bruce spoke before he did. "The First Corp were sent to handle a skirmish near Odessa, weren't they? I thought the Chitauri didn't have weapons there that could destroy a dragon."

Hill looked towards Rhodey, and Rhodey looked to make sure no one was listening. Then he quietly admitted, "We leaked information that they were going to Odessa because we suspect that there's a spy reporting our plans to the Chitauri. Their actual mission was to assault the portal in Thanatos."

"_Thanatos_?" Tony echoed in disbelief. "That's not a mission. That's a suicide run!"

His shout had attracted attention, and Hill glared at him. "Are you trying to compromise military secrets?"

"It's not much of a secret now that the Chitauri nearly killed them, now is it?" Tony asked, but he obligingly lowered his voice. "The enemy already knows your plans. The only ones left to lie to are us civilians."

Hill, who had yet to master a blank mask, darted her eyes away, and Tony realized that he had hit the nail on the head.

"Huh, you _are_ trying to lie to us. Why? You don't want anyone to know how much Loki screwed up?"

"I'm telling you this because I know you won't cooperate otherwise," Rhodey said. "But if the news gets out that we not only attacked Thanatos but lost three dragon riders in the process, people are going to panic. They'll lose faith that we can actually win this war. That's why we need you to fix the general's dragon. It'll give them something to rally around."

"You mean it'll distract them from the fact that you're lying to them," Tony said, but then he shrugged. "Fine. If that's what you want, I'll fix the damn dragon. But I'm charging a fortune for it, and I expect to be paid even when Loki dies and it becomes nothing more than a scrapheap."


	2. Chapter 2

10/10/14- I decided to write the entire story before posting it to avoid tangling myself up in the plot, so the next update won't be for a long while. However, once that point is reached, updates should be fairly regular.

* * *

On the second day after the First Corp returned from Thanatos in ruin, the light in the dragon's eyes went out. Or at least, Tony thought it had.

"No, no, no," he whispered, lurching out of his chair towards the motionless machine. He grabbed its head in his hands, peered into its empty eye sockets, and desperately searched for a hint of light. There was nothing.

"Is he-" Bruce started, but Tony interrupted him.

"Close the windows," he ordered as he released the dragon's head and stalked towards the forge. There was the start of a chest plate sitting in the flames, nearly hot enough to work, but Tony threw water into the fire without a second thought. It sputtered down to dim coals, and with the windows closed, dusk fell inside the smithy.

Tony hurried back to the dragon's side and leaned down, but he still couldn't find a hint of magic within it. Refusing to accept what was before him, he filled another bucket and ignored Bruce's confusion as he drowned the furnace again. Then he pulled the shutter closed, causing smoke to lazily drift around the ceiling.

Using the scant light that leaked past the windows, Tony moved towards the dragon. Normally the constructs were beacons in the night, but the one lying on his floor was glinting gold encasing an empty void.

"Damnit," Tony muttered. "We can't afford to lose him now."

He could hear the anxious tittering of the city beyond his walls, and he knew the announcement of General Loki's death would be met with panic. The military had tried to assuage fears by saying that Loki's injuries weren't as severe as they seemed, but given the state of the general's dragon, those words were nothing more than lies. The Chitauri had taken their general just like they took everything else.

But then, as Tony turned to reopen the windows, he noticed a glimmer out of the corner of his eyes. He stopped and stared at the dragon, and a second later, it happened again; a faint wisp of magic drifted through the metal frame before dispersing back into darkness.

"He's alive," Bruce said in disbelief.

"Yeah..." Another wisp appeared only to vanish faster than the first. "But for how long?"

Tony ended up watching the dragon throughout the night. When Bruce commented on his vigil, he waved it away, saying he had an ingenious idea he had to sketch out. However, each time the magic disappeared, he'd put out the candle and wait for green light to break the emptiness.

Then, sometime between midnight and dawn, he fell asleep with his chair facing the construct. When he awoke, it was to Bruce shaking his shoulder.

"Tony, look."

He groaned, blinking against the sunlight flooding the smithy, and pulled himself upright. "That's the last time I'm sleeping in a chair," he muttered as he turned to Bruce. "What is it?"

The man's response was to point at the dragon, and Tony felt his stomach drop. That was it- the general had died while he was sleeping. They were going to march his coffin through the streets and-

His eyes fell on the dragon, and his fear was replaced with shock. Then, as he continued staring at the bright, steady light coursing through the machine, he grinned.

"That son of a bitch made it."

-o-o-o-

"No, stop! What are you doing? You can't put that gear there!"

"Tony, I think I know what I'm doing. I have more experience with dragons than you do."

"Riding one doesn't count. There's plenty of dragon riders who don't know a spur gear from a hypoid gear. Besides, that was nine years ago. The original design is outdated."

"You're getting paid to fix the dragon, Tony. Not experiment with it."

"I am fixing it—fixing the inefficient design. Now put that gear down and leave the engineering to the master."

Rolling his eyes, Bruce dropped the gear onto the desk. "You're lucky I still put up with you."

"You know you love me," Tony said with a smirk, and then he returned his attention to the half-rigged wing before him. The limb was held aloft by ropes that were hooked to the ceiling, though the smithy was too small for it to be extended fully; the tip of the wing scraped against the wall.

Even though he was standing on a desk, Tony had to stretch himself to reach the higher clamps, and he fumbled with the wing in one hand while the other held a thick sheet of canvas. Not for the first time, he regretted attaching the limb before it was finished, especially when his patient was a pain in the ass.

Just as Tony was closing the last latch, the wing jerked and yanked the fabric from his hands. He stumbled after it, nearly falling off the table, and once he righted himself, he glared at the dragon. "Hey, what did I say about moving?"

Lifting its head from the the ground, the construct regard Tony with glowing eyes. Though the man knew that the dragons were not sentient, not the way humans or animals were, he could have sworn that it was amused by his frustration. With a groan, he looked away and tugged pointedly on the wing. "Hold still. I'm trying to fix you, metal for brains."

This time, the dragon obeyed, and Tony finished snapping in the artificial membrane. But then when he unhooked the ropes to check that the wing folded properly, the limb fell to the ground with a thud. Hopping off the table, Tony nudged it with his foot.

"Fold your wing."

The dragon didn't move.

"I know you can hear me. Hurry up. I'm on a deadline."

When the dragon continued to ignore him, Tony psyched himself up to lug the wing across the room, but just as he lifted the end of it, the wing retracted. It nestled against the dragon's side with a loud groan, and Tony frowned.

"I could have sworn I fixed that jamb," he muttered, stepping over the machine and peering into its shoulder to find that one of the gears had fallen out of alignment. He cursed, glanced at the clock, and cursed again. "I'm not going to finish on time. Bruce, come handle this while I finish its arm."

His friend didn't look up from the inventory sheets he had busied himself with. "You told me to stop messing with it."

"Ugh, fine, I take back what I said. Now go fix its shoulder."

"It wouldn't kill you to be polite, you know," Bruce said, but he stood and fetched a screwdriver, tub of grease, and sanding rod.

Tony claimed the vacated chair and shoved aside the paperwork in order to spread out the unused gears. Then he dragged the half-finished arm forwards, inspecting it for damage. When he was satisfied that Bruce hadn't messed with it again, he started attaching the remaining pieces. The gears fell into place with ease, and he was pleased to note that when he flexed the limb, it had a greater range of motion than the original design.

"Alright, let's finish this up," he said, hefting the arm from the table and lugging it over to the dragon. Bruce finished greasing the machine's shoulder and stepped back, allowing Tony to reach the connection port. He made quick work of welding the pieces together, and once he was sure it was stable, he motioned for the dragon to stand.

For the first time in a month, the machine was able to rise to its feet, and it flexed each limb as Tony instructed. The man walked around the dragon, searching for any flaws or anomalies, but he found none.

"You know, I think I might actually miss this ornery pile of rust," he said as he came to a stop in front of the construct. Then he checked his pocket watch and groaned. "I'm half an hour late. Help me get it onto the cart, will you?"

Bruce was already a step ahead of him, shoving open the swinging doors that attached the smithy to a wide alleyway. Outside, four draft horses snorted and shuffled their feet, pulling on the harnesses that attached them to a wagon. They quieted as Bruce approached with his hands raised disarmingly. He ran his hand along the back of the closest horse, soothing it, and once the animals' protests faded into silence, he nodded to Tony.

"Show time," Tony muttered, guiding the dragon forwards. It lumbered towards the door, and as it moved, Tony kept a close eye on the leg he'd just replaced. However, the limb held, and the only thing slowing the dragon was the narrow exit they were attempting to force it through. He had thought hauling the machine inside was a struggle, but now that it had all of its limbs, the reverse was even harder.

Metal screeched against stone as the dragon ducked through the doorway, and one of the construct's wings caught on the door hinges. With an annoyed grunt, the dragon yanked its wing forwards, tearing the wood from the wall. Then it shoved the rest of its body through, leaving Tony to stare is dismay at the damage.

"I take it back—I'm not going to miss it," the man said as he followed the wake of destruction to where the dragon was clambering into the wagon. The wood creaked beneath its weight, and the horses glanced nervously at it. Once again Bruce calmed then, and as Tony stepped up to take the man's place, he asked, "You coming with?"

Bruce shook his head. "I've got to get back to work. With the dragon taking up the smithy, I've fallen behind on my orders."

"Suit yourself," Tony said with a shrug. He untethered the lead horses' reigns from a wooden post and lightly tugged the animals forwards. "Come on. I want to get this over with."

The horses shared his desire, and they lurched into motion, causing the wagon's wheels to clatter against the cobblestones. They emerged from the alleyway and turned west, heading down the busy street. Curious cityfolk paused in their errands to watch as Tony led the dragon passed, and once they guessed who the construct belonged to, their relief was palpable.

Though Tony was no stranger to stares—was, in fact, quite fond of attracting them—he had no patience for the people obstructing his path, especially when the fort grew closer and the dragon grew more lively. It strained its neck to peer over the fort's high walls and flared its wings, nearly knocking over the wagon.

"If you don't stop that, I'm going to put a tarp over you," Tony warned, but though he would have been glad to carry the threat out, they had already reached the gates.

The guards stationed under the arch took one look at his cargo and unbarred his way, shepherding him into the grounds. Unlike last month, when the fort was in complete disarray and people were everywhere, the compound was calm and almost empty. Tony didn't let that fool him, however, into thinking that the war was going well; no one was there because they were dead or on the front lines.

Unable to locate a familiar face to dump the dragon on, Tony groaned and made his way farther into the fort. Rhodes had warned him before that he wasn't allowed to wander around military zones without an escort, but if they didn't have someone waiting for him, that was their problem.

When he found his way back to the hangar, there was still no sign of Hill, but there was a man in the middle of greasing a dragon's gears. As Tony brought the horses to a stop, the rider glanced over, but once he saw who it was, he lost interest and returned to maintaining the dragon.

Bristling at the dismissal, Tony asked, "Hey, do you know where Hill is? I've got a delivery for her."

He received no reply, and so he raised his voice and continued, "If you guys don't want your dragon back, fine. But if I'm taking it back, I hope you know that I'm going take it apart piece by piece."

That got him a reaction; the rider gritted his jaw and moved his oiling rag with jerky swipes. But he still didn't speak, so Tony kept going, pushing buttons until one of them gave.

"Even though I've repaired dozens of dragons, I've never completely understood how they ticked, and the Corp isn't too keen on sharing their secrets. But I bet if I dismantled it, I could figure it out even without magic. Then I could rebuild it and use it for myself. Maybe even make a doz-"

The rider, who's muscles had been getting more tense as Tony spoke, abruptly flung himself to his feet and took an angry step towards Tony. Sunlight glinted off of the man's left arm as metal plates whirred and shifted.

Startled, Tony stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. "Woah, man. Chill, okay? I was just joking."

"Then perhaps you should consider making better jokes," a voice said from behind Tony, and he turned to see a woman behind him, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wagon. The general's dragon shifted in the cart to rest its nuzzle against her face, covering a deep pink scar that stretched across the left side.

"And you are?" Tony asked, but it seemed like no one wanted to listen to him today, because instead of answering, the woman turned her attention to the furious dragon rider.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and after a moment, the man's stance relaxed and he nodded. It seemed the woman didn't believe him though, because she continued to scrutinize him.

"I'm fine," the man rasped, surprising Tony; he was starting to think the man couldn't speak. "It's not a big deal."

Though not content with the response, the woman shifted her focus back to Tony, and her expression became icy again. "You're late."

Realizing that he had somehow made a mistake and offended both riders, Tony bit down his sarcastic retort and said, "I got held up. Now I'm looking for Hill; she said she would meet with me."

"She left when you didn't show up," the woman replied. "She has better things to do than wait around all day."

Then the dragon, looking more animated now than it had all month, shoved its snout against the woman again. She turned to it, and the green magic dancing in its eyes reflected in hers. The woman's glare partially thawed, and she asked, "Is Lockheart fit to fly?"

"Yeah, he's ready. But umm... Who are you? I was supposed to talk to Hill, or if she was unavailable, Loki."

There was a chuckle from behind Tony, sounding both parts amused and vindictive. He glanced back at the metal-armed rider, but the man had gone back to acting like Tony didn't exist. The woman, on the other hand, was staring at Tony with a frightening expression, but before he could backtrack, her scowl was replaced with a grin that was, admittedly, just as disturbing.

"Who, me?" the woman asked, drawing away from the dragon and stepping towards Tony "I'm nobody important. In fact..."

She continued to approach him until they were mere inches apart. Then, when tony didn't back down, she leaned forwards so her mouth was near his ear. "I'd much rather talk about you. You're reputation proceeds you, you know. Best blacksmith of the decade—a true heir to your father's legacy."

Tony bristled at her words, and when he reared his head back, he could see her smirk stretch wider. That's when he decided fuck it; he wasn't about to let a stranger intimidate him.

He matched her grin, flashing his teeth, and reached up to grab the hand that had been ghosting across his arm. Pulling on the limb, he drew the woman closer until they were flushed up against each other. The top of Tony's head barely passed the woman's chin, and he had to look up to meet her wicked green eyes, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Then I guess you haven't heard of my other reputations. The more _exciting_ ones."

His actions took the woman by surprise, and she glanced down at where their bodies were touching. But then she slipped back into a mask, grabbing his free arm so it looked almost like they were about to start dancing. "Are you implying that you'll show me?"

"Perhaps."

She laughed, and if he didn't think she might slit his throat and leave his body in a ditch, Tony would have thought it sounded nice. "I don't think you understand the depth of your daring," she purred, tightening her grip on his hand.

"Oh really? Then enlighten me."

She tilted her head down until their noses were practically touching. Green eyes glittered with mischief, and she opened her mouth to reply. A shout interrupted her.

"Bucky, I told you to wait for me!"

Tony and the woman's heads snapped towards the corner of the hangar to see a gangly young man running around the corner. His eyes widened when he saw them, and he had to dig his heels in to keep from barreling into them. Once he skidded to a stop, he leaned against the hangar wall to catch his breath.

"Sorry," he gasped. "Didn't see you... there..." His voice trailed off as he took in their compromising positions.

The woman sighed and pulled away. "It's not what it looks like," she said. "I was merely... testing the waters."

The newcomer raised his eyebrow, pulling himself up to his full height, though considering the man was even shorter than Tony, it wasn't much. "By hitting on him?"

"It is not the worst I have done," she said with a shrug.

Though Shorty was unimpressed by her answer, he accepted it and turned towards Sir Grouchy. "What about you, Buck? What's your excuse for letting her terrorize a civilian?"

"It was amusing to watch," the other man said unrepentantly. When his skinny friend continued to frown at him, Bucky groaned. "Aww, come off it, Steve. Loki didn't hurt him."

Tony's brain stuttered. 'Loki?' He looked around, half expecting the general to spontaneously appear, but there was no one else. Which meant...

"That doesn't mean-"

"Woah, hold up," Tony blurted, drawing their attention back to him. He stared at the woman with wide eyes, and she smirked back at him, knowing exactly what he had realized. "_You're_ General Loki?"

"The one and only," she said, and as she spoke, Tony's attention was drawn back to the burn scars along her side. Then his eyes went to her black hair, the invigorated dragon, and back to the familiar burns on sallow skin.

"I..." Tony started, about to say, 'I should have guessed that,' but then he remembered why the thought had never crossed his mind. "I thought Loki was a man?"

"I am whatever I choose to be," Loki said, and her eyes challenged him to contradict her.

Not one to back down from a fight, Tony was about to do just that, but then he caught sight of Steve frantically shaking his head. After a second's hesitation, common sense won out, and Tony replaced his retort with the first thing that came to mind. "I fixed your dragon."

Loki laughed again, and while it was mocking, Tony thought she also sounded pleased. "I've noticed."

Her gaze turned to the dragon, and with a tilt of her head, it sprung from the wagon to land by her side. Tony yelped and stumbled back, nearly getting knocked over by its wings, and the horses snorted in alarm. Loki didn't notice or didn't care, too busy running her fingers across golden metal. The dragon leaned into her touch, and within its chest, the glow of magic grew brighter.

Then the machine lowered itself and Loki reached onto it's back, grabbing one of its spikes and deftly pulling herself into the saddle. Her boots slid into chambers between the dragon's spine and wings, and once she was settled, the gears rotated to lock her in place.

"Let's see if your work is as good as they say," she said, looking down at them. "Sergeant, fetch my helmet."

Steve looked towards Bucky, and Bucky raised his grease-stained hands. Rolling his eyes, Steve went to the storage shed next to the hangar and emerged with an ostentatious helmet. It had curved horns sprouting from a golden band, goggles, and the side-panels of an aviator cap. Loki took the helmet from Steve and put it on, and as she did so, her mischievous body language shifted into something more serious.

"You're dismissed," Loki told Tony. "Next time, I suggest that you arrive on time."

Then she gripped the reigns along the dragon's neck and pressed herself tightly to the metal. Gears clanked and whirred as wings flung outwards, shoving against the air and lifting the construct's feet from the ground. Tony covered his eyes as dust billowed, and when he lowered his arm, the dragon had risen above the hangar. Its body gleamed in the evening sun, and Tony could barely see Loki on its back as it banked towards the city walls.

The two flew farther and farther away, leaving Tony to stare after them. It wasn't until Steve started talking to Bucky that he moved, but he even then, he continued to glance at the dark speck on the horizon as he led the horses home.


	3. Chapter 3

Just kidding about more regular updates. I'm having some RL issues right now, and I really just cannot handle this story on top of that and college. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning it. I just need some time to work things out.

I also want to mention that this story focuses heavily on warfare and politics, including subjects like torture and POWs. These will especially become prevalent as the story progresses, so please keep that in mind if those are things that are triggering to you.

* * *

Black ink scrawled across the page, the letters indistinct and bisected by the line upon which they were meant to sit. The second the dip pen lifted from the page, Loki shoved the signed document to the side and grabbed another. When she caught sight of how many papers still remained, her lip curled, and she nearly knocked over her inkwell as she slammed the pen back in.

Loki was saved from the mind-numbing tedium of paperwork by footsteps coming down the hall. Her eyes darted to the open pocket watch sitting at the corner of the desk; right on time, as usual. Setting the pen down, Loki turned towards the door and called, "Please tell me you have something more interesting than equipment requisitions."

The door opened, and First Sergeant Natasha Romanov stepped inside, bringing with her muddy footprints and puddles of water. Loose red strands were plastered to her face, and she pushed them towards the ponytail that dripped onto the floor along with the rest of her sodden uniform. As she closed the door firmly behind her, her fingers left streaks of black on the oak.

"General," Natasha said, standing at attention until Loki waved her forwards. She strode to his desk, and from the bag slung across her chest, she procured a clean oiling cloth with which she cleaned her hands. Then she grabbed a stack of papers and dropped them on the desk, nearly knocking over the pile of forms. "I think you'll find that we could use a little boring."

"What did you find?" Loki asked as she pulled the papers closer. She flicked through them, scanning the contents, and realized that they were field reports dating back as far as half a decade. There was one from four years ago that had her name written in the corner, detailing an expedition to Svartalfheim that had ended in disaster.

Loki's brow furrowed. "You think that this mission was compromised by the spy?" She went to another report, this one from three years ago. It stated in impersonal ink that the Chitauri had taken another town and that the Dragon Corp had lost their general. That had been the one time that Loki hadn't been pleased about getting promoted. "That all of these went wrong because of a spy?"

"Not just one spy," Natasha said as she began to wring out her jacket. Outside, a crack of thunder shook the air and rattled the window pane. "The effects are too far blown to be just one."

"Then how many?"

Natasha shrugged. "It's hard to tell. At least one in every city. More in Midgard. They knew about Albatyn, which means they haven't just breached the army. They're in the Dragon Corp, too."

"Damn it." Loki dropped the papers and leaned back in the chair, her hand reaching up to massage the thick, unwieldy skin on her neck. "They knew we were going to Thanatos. We weren't being clever—they've always been a mile ahead of us." She clenched her fist. "How had we not noticed before? How had _I_ not noticed before?"

"Because they're good," Natasha said bluntly. When Loki glowered at her, she didn't back down. Rank had never been able to curb her sharp tongue; it was one of her most endearing and frustrating qualities. "Whoever they are, they've been playing us for years. They aren't amateurs, and now that they've made a mistake, they'll be even more cautious."

"Not cautious enough to keep them from killing my riders," Loki growled. "We need to put an end to this now. I'll contact Colonel Rhodes, make him gather his officers, and we'll flush the spies out. Interrogate everyone who had a hand in Albatyn, and-"

"And what? Make people doubt the military even more?" Natasha interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest and smearing mud across the white V of her exposed undershirt. "You know as well as I do that shooting in the dark will accomplish nothing but chaos. If we start pointing fingers, it will do nothing but destabilize our control. I don't need to tell you that we need all of the control we can get."

Loki stared at the spy, gobsmacked, and when Natasha lifted an eyebrow to say, 'What? You know I'm right,' the general slumped back into her chair. Despite the gravity of the situation, a fond grin tugged at her lips. "It is a wonder no one has court-martialed you before, First Sergeant."

Natasha returned the expression and said, "They've tried, but they need me too much to lock me away." Then her smile flattened. "There's little public action we can take, but my colleagues in Knowhere are conducting investigations of their own. Until they've yielded results, I'd advise keeping quiet about how much we know. Let the enemy think we're still ignorant."

"For all that it matters, we _are_ ignorant. They've taken countless li-"

Another crack of thunder drowned out her words. It shook the stone, faded, and then redoubled in ferocity, bringing with it a fresh flood of rain. The window across the room creaked piteously, and water started to pool under the pane, dribbling down the eroded stone.

Loki pulled open her desk drawer and began to shove papers in, crumpling their edges. When she spoke, her voice was just loud enough to carry over the storm. "When Asgard was still considered a pantheon by mortals, I had been known as a master of deceit. The God of Lies." She laughed harshly. "My brethren must be mocking me right now for letting parasites grow in my own domain."

Natasha, for once, held her tongue, and Loki envied her sangfroid. She knew that Natasha had to be as outraged as her, had to feel as _guilty_, but none of that showed in her expression. The First Sergeant was like stone, and when Loki felt like she had regained a mere fraction of that control, she said, "Until your colleagues follow through, I will delay taking decisive action, and I will advise Colonel Rhodes to do the same. You're dismissed."

Loki turned back to the desk, grabbed her pen, and was about to dip it into the inkwell when she noticed that Natasha hadn't moved. Loki groaned, setting the pen back down. Natasha had been right; she did prefer the simplicity of paperwork.

"What else do I need to worry about?"

"There's Chitauri mobilizing to the south of Albatyn. They're heading to Odessa."

Loki closed her eyes, breathed out slowly, and resisted the urge to bang her head against the desk. She had just sent the riders in Odessa to assist in Svartalfheim. "How fast are the Chitauri moving?"

"At the pace they were going, they should reach the wall by nightfall."

A quick check of her pocket watch confirmed what Loki feared. Even if she could recall the riders in time to stop the assault, Malekith would not take kindly to her rescinding her offer to help. She sighed, set the pen down again, and rose to her feet. "We'll head to Odessa and cut them off."

Once again, Natasha remained rooted in place. "They haven't mobilized an entire legion," she said, her words oddly hesitant. "We could send a small squadron of foot soldiers, perhaps request assistance from the Howling Commandos in Stuttgart."

It didn't take long for Loki to understand what Natasha was trying to do. She tried to stand straighter, pulling the weight off of her right leg, but she couldn't help the way her jaw clenched at the throbbing ache. "The Howling Commandos have their own province to protect. We'll take care of it. The team could use the practice."

Not giving Natasha time to come up with a counter-argument—because Loki had no doubt that, if given the opportunity, Natasha could convince her of anything—the general headed for the door. It took a few steps for her gait to even out, but once she got into the rhythm, it was impossible to tell that her hip had been brutally wrenched out of place.

After a moment, Natasha followed, and the two stalked through the compound. They passed by other offices, the training room in which Hill was drilling some new recruits, and a ritual room before stepping outside. The rain immediately pelted them, and the mud sucked in their feet as they crossed the short distance to the Corp barracks. Loki shoved the door open, and a gust of wind made the lanterns flicker, drawing the attention of the two riders inside. At the sight of the general, they both snapped to attention.

"We're moving out within the hour. Get your supplies ready," Loki announced, coming to a stop before the couches. She frowned at the empty space to Bucky's left. "Where's Sergeant Rogers?"

Without a word, Bucky slid from the room into the adjoining living quarters. He returned a moment later on the heels of a tired Steve Rogers. The scrawny man was rubbing at eyes, still in his nightclothes, and when he pulled his hand away, it revealed the red flush in his cheeks.

"Loki?" he asked, squinting at the general. "What are you doing here? I thought that we have the day off."

"We _do_ have the day off." Clint said, easing out of his salute. His eyes slid from Loki to Natasha, who was standing rigidly near the door. "At least, we did. What city is it this time?"

"Odessa. The Chitauri are advancing on the wall as we speak."

Annoyance morphed into apprehension. "And the squadron that is normally stationed there?"

"They're too far north." Loki met each of their gazes. "We're the only ones available to stop them, understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," the team chorused, and the general waved them towards their rooms. They hurried away, and she could hear drawers open and slam closed as they gathered their uniforms.

Loki went in the other direction, to her private quarters. The door locked behind her, and as she walked to the closet, she loosened her corset. It fell to the floor, quickly accompanied by her skirt, and was kicked to the side. She slid her new armor from the hanger, fingers brushing against the protective mail and stiff fabric. Though it had been weeks since she had worn full gear, and the material still reeked with chemicals, the feel of it around her shoulders was a comfort that little else provided.

When Loki looked down to fasten the straps, she paused, her eyes lingering on the warped flesh that spanned across her entire left side. Along her ribs, where the burn was the worst, her skin had become mottled red, and tendrils of raised skin reached past her sternum. Her hand traced along the marks, going from patches where she couldn't feel her own touch to spots where the lightest sensation had, not even a week ago, incited sparks of pain. A month ago, the entire area had been burned open, the charred blackness interspersed with crimson and bone.

Loki pulled her hand away and continued to buckle her armor, hiding the worst of the damage from sight. There was little she could do about the marks around her face, however, and when she bound her hair, it only drew attention to waxy skin above her ear and around half of her eye. She scrutinized her reflection, and the more she looked, the less content she became. But it wasn't just the scar that bothered her. In fact, the more she looked, the less that mattered compared to her too thick lips and round face.

Magic washed through Loki's body, reshaping all that it came in contact with, and when Loki looked back into the mirror, a more angular face greeted him. Content, he placed on the last of his armor and left the barracks. The rain had not slowed while he was inside, and he was drenched by the time he made it to the hangar. Clint and Natasha were already there, leading their dragons out onto the sodden field. The beasts were undeterred by the rain, and their wings flexed eagerly as they cleared the awning.

Loki grabbed his helmet and a saddlebag from the storage shed before entering the hangar. Only one torch was still lit, its flickering light barely enough to offset the overcast sky, but even if the building were pitch black, Loki would have had no problem finding Lockheart's stall. Each step he took made the green light seeping through the gaps in the door grow brighter, and he could hear his construct rouse with a hiss of steam.

Protecting the stall was a massive steel gate, the two panels held in place by half a ton of weights and gears. When Loki reached it, he placed his hand on the rune etched across the seam, and the door glowed the same color as the light within. The machinery groaned as the gate slid open, and Loki stepped back just as Lockheart sprang free of his confinement, claws scrapping against stone.

The dragon filled almost the entire walkway, and Loki had to duck under its wings to attach the supplies to hooks lining its chest. After the equipment was secured, he pressed a hand to Lockheart's flank, urging the machine forwards. It obeyed with a lurch, and they walked from the hangar, crossing paths with Bucky and Steve at the exit.

Once they reached the courtyard, Loki walked around Lockheart, inspecting the machinery for any flaws. In the light, he could easily see where the dragon's original frame gave way to Stark's repair; the gleaming gold of the new pieces made the old ones, scoured by sand and tarnished by hot steam, look like dull bronze. But just as Loki had found when he flown the previous day, the blacksmith's work, unlike his demeanor, was flawless.

With the easy part over, Loki grit his jaw and grabbed the reign threaded through Lockheart's neck. He dragged himself onto the dragon's back and shifted in the saddle, but no matter what position he sat in, the throbbing in his hip remained. It had been fine yesterday, but he was quickly learning that pain was worse when the weather was foul. However, a crotchety hip was better than being dead, and Loki slid his legs into the stirrups, letting the metal lock him into place.

Loki guided Lockheart towards Natasha and Clint, who were attempting to shield each other from the rain with their dragons' wings. Strong gusts of wind undermined their efforts, and Clint has wiping the water from his goggles when the general reached them.

"Are you sure it's safe to ride like this?" Clint asked, putting his helmet back on. He fumbled with the buckle, but eventually, he secured the strap under his chin. "I can hardly see two feet in front of me. Not to mention it's freezing."

"The rain will stop before we reach the desert," Loki said, but he too was scowling; the cotton lining the inside of his helmet itched his skin, and the horns caused water to drip down the back of his shirt. Not surprisingly, the dragon riders were the only ones outside. The rest of the fort was as still as a grave.

"Are Hill and the rookie not joining us?" Steve asked as he Bucky approached with their dragon, a twin-headed monstrosity that was so large it made Lockheart look small.

Loki shook his head. "They have other duties to tend to. This mission, it's just the five of us."

Silence fell over the group, and Loki did not miss the way the others glanced towards the empty spaces like they expected them to be filled. A month ago, they had flown as a team of eight. A year before that, they had been a team of thirteen. But now the only things that remained of the others were neglected stalls and unused beds.

The sky gave a plaintive cry as rain streamed down their faces, and Loki looked away, clenching Lockheart's reigns in his fists. He took the guilt and buried in deep within his chest, where it would hopefully rot with the rest of his regrets. The he urged his dragon to spread it wings, drawing the other riders' attention.

"It's time to move out," Loki said and propelled Lockheart into the air. A moment later, the team followed, and they left the rain of Midgard behind for the arid desert wastelands.


End file.
